Gone
by Gosse
Summary: After Peter's and James' deaths and Sirius' imprisonment; how will the only remaining marauder carry on? !First fanfic ever! Please: reviews, but no flames.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or the books or any of that good stuff. JK Rowling does. But let me imagine that I do, OK?  
**Prologue:**Remus Lupin did not have the nicest childhood. His father wasn't ever home and his mother got drunk pretty often. After a while, he was sent to live with his grand parents where he lived a some how normal life... but some wounds don't heal. He was always a lonely person, and his werewolf statute didn't help matters. At Hogwarts, things began to change. He had three friends. Three good friends. The best of friends. They were all he had in life. He hadn't talked to his parents in years, nor did he want to, and his grand parents were both dead. It had taken a lot of time for Remus to open his self to friendship, but it only made the bound stronger. Years later, when out of school, the tragedy happens: Sirius kills James and Peter and is sent to Azkaban. How will the only remaining Marauder carry on?

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Skies were grey and leaves flew all around the air in red swirls. Now in early November, people were hurrying along the street, entering restaurants to try escaping the shivering fall cold. Of all the shops, restaurants, stores, houses or building; one would not differ from another: each one already set up with Christmas fever, but to one single soul, one single person; how much difference can it make, which cafe you choose? To Remus Lupin, it did a great deal of a difference that day. Let's enter the merry (or so it seems) universe of this little French cafe, shall we? 

A frosted window, a cordial ambiance, a lot of red-faced, wind torn pedestrians; and one lonely tortured soul. In the front part of the place, just near the windows, at a small round, wooden table, was a man. When you enter a cafe, chattering with friends, and pass beside a man: you know nothing of his life, of his soul, of his torments. You know nothing, share nothing, care nothing, of him. The man who could have seemed quite tall was leaning over the table into a formless mass. He could have been handsome too, but his beard was a week long grown, his face was dirty and his eyes were puffy. He groaned heavily when people hustled him. "Just another grumpy old man" did they say... but he was not.

Gazing at the smoke coming out of his cup of coffee, Remus did not see anything of all the excitement in the cafe, all the persons and things melting into a colorless blur around him. He did not hear people talking, babies crying or radio singing; all he could do was to feel. Guilty feelings were no longer enough, sadness was not even enough. "Why did I not see it coming", "I could have stopped this from happening", all the same sentences he had kept raving on with for the last week; did not mean anything anymore. What did that matter what he could have done? What did that matter what had happened? What did that matter... how close friends they had been? None of it mattered anymore. All he knew was he had nothing left anymore. No, he did not. In fact he did not know anything, he did not care about anything, he did not wonder nor worry about anything anymore. All he could do was to feel. He could feel his hands shaking, but not the hot coffee he had reversed on his knees. He could feel his chest burning and his stomach aching, but he could not feel the cold sifting him through the open door. He could feel his head going numb like ice, yes he could feel, and those feelings were greater pains than any knowing, caring, wondering or worrying he could ever have done.

The waitress came near him. Her lips moved, but he did not hear anything. Suddenly, he looked at her. Looked at her with his most hateful look, with all the little energy he had left, he took time to hate her. Hate her for having a normal life. Hate her for that her life was the same as it had been a week ago. Hate her for she did not feel anything of the pain he knew. What did coffees and bills and money mattered, if his three best friends were gone forever? He got up so abruptly that he knocked a woman near him off her chair. He got out of his pocket a black leather wallet and threw it hard on the table. It was worse than if he had yelled. The girl stood back in shock and the table fell to the floor. Though he did not know, he was already gone.

Clouds were gathering closer and heavier over the little river. Storm prevailed, in the sky as well as in his heart. Remus bent down over the cold stone wall. He lowered his head back down and took a deep breath. His eyes were dry. He would have considered himself happy if he could have cried. This pain was over any tears, because at one point tears have to stop. His pain would never ease, never would he rest. Light footsteps came ringing through his ears, but he did not hear anything. He rolled over onto the wall and closed his eyes. Maybe he mumbled "Why Sirius, why?", whilst maybe he just thought about it. It was not only the fact that his three best friends were gone forever, it was the fact that they were gone because of him... Sirius. He did not need feeling betrayed on top of that, but he did. Perhaps it was the strongest feeling of them all.

A hand posed onto his shoulder. He got away rudely. Who was it who dared to disturb his painful thoughts? He turned around to see the waitress of the cafe. She looked shy and apprehensive. Why had she followed him here? He did not care, nor did he even think about the question. He turned back at gazing into the tumultuous waters of the river. He then said "Leave me alone" in such a deep tone that he did not know if she had heard him. He did not know, but he would not say it again. These three words had taken him such strength he could not say anything again. "I was Peter's cousin" said the girl, "I- I'm sorry" she added and her tone wasn't all that confident. He tightened his fists in anger, but did not turn 'round. What did she know, what did she care? Why wouldn't she just leave him alone? "I found that in your wallet" she said while tending him a torn photography. He looked at it and his eyes became wide in surprise. It was them! With him! It had been taken at the end of their 7th year, he remembered the day perfectly. He took the picture into shaky hands and it felt odd. It felt like it was burning his fingers. The pain was hardly bearable, but he now held onto the picture like it was his life. In fact, it was. All that was left from the infamous Maraders. No more laughs together, no more full moons together, just a picture; and him alone on the other side. His legs were leaving on him. He was now sitting on the ground, his head and back on the cold and wet wall. He brought his knees to his chest and put his elbows on them, hands on his eyes. How could it? Why did it? So many questions which he didn't have answers for. He just wanted all of that to be over. He felt like he was going to explode; he _wished_ he would explode. He wished all those feelings and questions could just go away from him. He wished he had stayed lonely, for he would not have been hurt so badly. Or did he? Perhaps one moment of joy was worth a life of pain... but how could pain possibly be that bad? He could not bear it anymore. He could not pretend anymore. He wanted to crawl on the ground and scream for this whole place to fall into pieces.

A moment later she was down there beside him. She posed her hand on his arm and this time he simply looked at her. He could not be hateful anymore; it took so much energy, so much strength; which he did not have. She had eyes like Peter. Gray eyes with a touch of fear to them, but what was more present was... hope.

How can you be hopeful in times such as these? Peter had been hopeful, and Peter had died. Why did she not look hurt or angry or sad? This hope was unbearable for him, exactly because that was what he needed. Looking at her eyes was hurting him, but he could not look away. Now he could feel his eyes were starting to tickle and to ache. Tears. His head fell onto her shoulder and whilst he let go of all those tears, all those restrained tears, she patted his back in a soothing manner. Tears have to stop at one point, but some wounds can't be healed.

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**Is it too long/**


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